


Sweet Amaranthine Nights

by Metal_mako_dragon



Series: Alls Well that Ends Well [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: (kind of), Acceptance, Anders needs to keep a better lid on his feelings, Angry Sex, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Justice doesn't get it, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Nathaniel is a gentleman at heart, Nathaniel taunts and Cousland contemplates murder, Oral Sex, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_mako_dragon/pseuds/Metal_mako_dragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And so then Anders ducks behind the cart and we all follow him and Nathaniel..!" Cousland was laughing so hard he had to stop to breathe, "Nathaniel is left on his own with her and he doesn't know what to do and..!"</p><p>"Yes, it was all very funny at the time, wasn't it," Nathaniel interrupted, his husky voice tinged with irritation, "I don't think I've ever been so embarrassed."</p><p>"Oh sweet Amaranthine nights," Cousland grinned, turning the meat over the fire to allow it to cook on the other side, "I don't think we're allowed back in the Nug and Blanket now are we?" - 'A Life Less Ordinary' Chapter 12</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Because murder and vengeance, as far as Anders could tell, only went hand in hand. He would rather that his two friends didn't propagate that rule. A game of cards leads to interesting places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Amaranthine Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RedIn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedIn/gifts).



It wasn’t there. He should have expected the disappointment but, after all that they had gone through since Namaya turned up in Amaranthine with her wild story of his potential freedom, he had sort of gotten his hopes up.

“Well, it was a long shot,” Nathaniel said as Anders shut the chest with an annoyed snap, “didn’t hurt to try.”

“I suppose,” Anders sighed as he stood, “something tells me I’ll never see the bloody thing again. Typical really.”

His phylactery, the proverbial ball and chain. There was something perverse about being literally betrayed by your own blood. Anders had never really seen the irony in it until now. Before, when he had been running from the Circle, he had liked to think that the ingenuity of the templars chasing him had been his downfall. Knowing it was a simple game of join the dots for them only served to make it less romantic.

Of course there were templars in the next room, when they tried to leave. Of course there were. Anders would have been blasé about the whole affair if it hadn’t made him so uptight. He saw Nathaniel move up to his left as the templars walked forwards, while Cousland imposed himself in between the mage and his hunters. Anders could feel Justice standing behind him, watching the proceedings with his careful gaze.

“And here I almost believed the infamous Anders wouldn’t take the bait,” said the lead templar, being at the head of the trio, surprisingly without her helmet covering her cold eyes. Anders knew her as soon as he laid eyes upon her.

“Ha, yes, what cold victory is this,” Anders sneered, “I should have know they would send you Rylock. You always were good at rubbing salt into a wound.”

“You made a poor choice in this one, Warden Commander,” Rylock continued, ignoring Anders as she had always done. The slight only put his back up more than it already was, “Anders will never submit, not to us and not to you.”

“Well, you’re right about that much at least,” Cousland said with a snort, giving Anders a glance out of the corner of his eye; Anders felt guilty later that the Commander’s sarcasm made him momentarily scared that he was about to be handed back to the Circle without a second thought, “but I kind of like it. I prefer a bit of ingenuity over blind obedience. Spices things up I find.”

“This is no joking matter, Commander,” Rylock’s dark brown eyes narrowed and her cronies fingered the hilts of their swords, “I have no time for pleasant banter. I will ask you once and once only to turn the apostate over to us.”

“Fuck off,” Anders said dismissively, trying to hide the fear, “you can’t touch me. King Alastair allowed my conscription!”

“The Chantry supersedes the crown in this matter,” Rylock said, motioning for her templars to move in, “you will be taken back and, if I have my way, you won’t ever be coming out again.”

Templars had been a big part of his life since he was a young teenager. Not that he hadn’t known about them before that, as something to be avoided, but since he had been dragged to the Circle and then thousands of miles from his home, they had been an integral part of his every day existence. He didn’t like them, not at all, in fact to be perfectly honest he hated the sight of their steely armour and their supercilious gaze.

Didn’t make it any easier to accept killing them. That he _wasn’t_ used to. Wishing they were dead was somewhat different to ending their lives. Not that he would have traded his freedom for that, but it still didn’t entirely sit well.

“Your cause is unjust and it reflects poorly upon your soul,” Justice had said before he put his sword through Rylock’s chest as she knelt gasping on the floor, “consider this as you pass.”

The words were both chilling and true, to Anders’ ears. Cousland didn’t seem to care about the carnage he had caused as he wiped his daggers clean on his blood spattered armour, and Nathaniel was surprisingly silent as he recovered the arrows he had spent into the templars, now nothing more than corpses cooling on the ground.

His phylactery was still nowhere in sight. All he was left with was a bruised conscience and the feeling that this wouldn’t be the end of things.

Cousland had suggested the nearest pub.

* * *

 

It had perhaps been a good and bad idea, on Cousland’s part. The alcohol had been necessary, considering the mood that hung over the four of them, but what the alcohol transformed the mood into was always a random factor. They had never ended up reaching the jovial, carefree atmosphere Anders had been hoping for. Instead things had descended quite quickly into a passive aggressive staring match that could have exploded into a fight at any moment. It had all started innocently enough.

“I suppose, I mean this might seem silly, but I suppose it just doesn’t seem right to me,” Anders said, “killing templars that are just doing their duty. Don’t get me wrong, you can fuck their ‘duty’ but...”

“I get you, Anders, I get you,” Cousland had cut in as he noticed the mage struggling with his words, waving a placating hand, “but if it’s between a life of imprisonment for my friend and a few dead innocents then I’ll take the latter option.”

It had been a disturbingly sweet thing to say. Anders wasn’t sure whether ‘thank you’ was the appropriate response. While he floundered for a reply, unfortunately, Nathaniel had one.

“So you’re not adverse to killing innocent people,” Nathaniel had said, his voice oddly calm as he sat back in his chair and nursed a glass of rough whiskey, “as long as it benefits you in some way.”

“I don’t know if I’d put it quite like that,” Cousland said, frowning slightly, but his eyes were sharp as he looked to the archer, “if you’re on the wrong side then you’re on the wrong side. Back me up here, will you Justice?”

“If you align yourself with those doing evil,” Justice said sagely, nodding, “then you are judged accordingly.”

“And who decides the ‘right side’, as you put it?” Nathaniel rejoined, now looking down at the table before him as if he could see something there; Anders had a bad feeling about where this conversation was headed.

“Who decides the right side?” Cousland repeated with annoyance, sitting back with a snort, his frown deepening, “What sort of fool question is that? I say it’s usually the one fighting those who’re doing wrong. Like us, for example.”

The last few words had been said wryly with a facetious air. Anders had tried to butt in because he could see Nathaniel’s hackles rising, but with a few strong spirits inside him, and slight panic that they were about to start a fight, his mind went blank. While Anders struggled for a way to diffuse the situation, Nathaniel, who he was sure would have continued his subtle, antagonistic talk if he hadn’t become so suddenly angry, cut straight to the chase.

“So my family’s guards were open for slaughter because you felt you were on the ‘right side’,” Nathaniel said, “is that right?”

“Sorry... _what?_ ” Cousland’s voice was low and unmistakably shocked, yet Anders could hear the fury beneath his words.

“So when my father stood between you and your friend gaining control of the throne,” Nathaniel continued recklessly, “he had put himself on the ‘wrong side’ had he? Did that make him fair game?”

“Diamondback!” Anders had shouted suddenly, sounding like a madman as he slammed his hand into the table.

Two surprised pairs of eyes had turned to him, Justice’s gaze still impassive but somewhat taken aback and Nathaniel’s wide stare looking more jumpy than afraid. Cousland did not look to him and Anders was more than aware of that. His Commander’s gaze was fixed firmly on Howe, sitting across from him, his hands clasped so tightly that his knuckles showed white. Anders was sure that Nathaniel had not yet experienced Lien Cousland at his most vicious and, if he had any say in it, he hoped it would stay that way. Which was why he continued with his confusing interruption.

“Diamondback, anyone want a game?” Anders said loudly, reaching over to shove justice lightly in the shoulder, “You’ve never played, have you Justice? Do they play card games in the Fade?”

“There is no time for playing,” Justice said with such righteousness that it made Anders groan, “when we are guarding the souls of the innocent.”

“Well how about you learn how to play then?” Anders groused, turning back to the others and jumping as Cousland pushed his chair back sharply, creating a teeth grinding sound; Anders floundered for a way to keep the two men from starting a fight, “uh, well, how about a bet? Hmm? A bet? Yes? That would be fun.”

He found Nathaniel’s eye on him as the man frowned, obviously not realising the danger he’d put himself in. Bringing up the supposed ‘innocence’ of Rendon Howe to Lien Cousland, who had watched his family slaughtered before his very eyes by said Howe’s troops, was perhaps the stupidest move you could make. Thankfully, when he turned to Cousland, who was half way up out of his chair, he found the Commander watching him as if giving him one chance to stop this happening before it did. Anders felt the pressure as if he were trying to stop an execution.

“Yes, a bet, a bet...” Anders looked around him fitfully, hoping to find inspiration in the rather nice pub they were in; there were only five other people in at this time of day and Anders eyes finally fell on a woman at the bar, a svelt elf in a long, elegant dress, her stark black hair sliding down to the small of her back. He jumped on it as the only idea he could come up with at such short notice, “yes, alright, how about this? We play three rounds, Ferelden rules, and whoever wins gets to ask out the woman at the bar.”

All eyes quickly scanned over to find said woman, gave her the once over, then returned to him. Anders noticed that the murderous glint in Cousland’s eye was no longer there, instead replaced by the smallest of smiles. Anders was confused but happy about this revelation. Nathaniel seemed non-plussed, although still bitter about the interruption of his conversation. Justice seemed more confused than anything else.

“Alright,” Cousland said finally, “I’ll take those odds.”

“Yes, I’m in,” Nathaniel said straight after, seemingly up for anything where he could try and beat Cousland at something or other.

“I will defer to you, Serrah Anders,” Justice said, inclining his head, “I would like to learn as much of your human customs as I can before I must depart this realm. I will play.”

Anders sent Nathaniel to find cards because he didn’t trust them not to fight in his absence. The game was slow at first, as Justice picked up the rules and actually tried to get into the game itself, which never truly worked. The spirit was too practical and trustworthy. He didn’t seem to be able to cope with the deception needed to play Diamondback and was too free with his cards. Anders didn’t mind. He was just thankful he’d averted disaster.

Two rounds in and Nathaniel had taken them both. Anders was amazed that the archer, slightly drunk as he was, was managing to beat them all. Admittedly the mage was only half trying, not truly caring about winning, and Justice wasn’t really a contender. Yet Cousland seemed to be playing atrociously. It confused Anders to no end. He knew the Commander was better than this, he’d played him before multiple times and Cousland had always slaughtered him. Anders kept his eyes on the proceedings but didn’t comment.

“Well,” Howe said with too much smugness to be ignored, “I guess the rumours about your abilities aren’t all they’re cracked up to be, Commander.”

“I suppose not,” Cousland said back with a slight shrug and no remorse, “you win, I concede defeat. Good game, Howe.”

The hidden and yet deep seated venom which Cousland put into the name was enough to tell Anders that this was in no way on the level. When Howe stood up and walked to the bar to claim his prize, if he could get it, Cousland was too quick in getting Anders and Justice up from the table and out of the pub. The two followed him in confusion. When they exited the confusion only escalated as Cousland quickly pulled them both behind a nearby vegetable cart, hiding them from view. By the time Anders had a chance to take stock of his situation, Cousland was covering his mouth to try and stem the laughter, tears visible in his eyes.

“What in Thedas are you doing?” Anders asked quietly, “And why the fuck are you laughing like a madman?”

“Are we to give Serrah Howe more privacy with his lady friend?” Justice asked frankly.

That only seemed to tip Cousland over the edge. He let out a roaring laugh, tears streaming from his eyes as he leaned back against the cart, shifting it slightly and making the carrots and cabbages inside roll about. Anders reached out to hold the cart steady while staying hidden from sight of the pub’s doorway.

“What is the _matter_ with you?” he admonished, “I feel like you’ve made me an accomplice to something I didn’t do!”

“Oh Maker,” Cousland said, wiping away the tears on his cheeks and trying to stem his laughter, making it come in short hiccough like bursts, “Anders you’re a genius. An unwitting genius but a genius nonetheless.”

“What?” he asked, feeling wary, “What are you talking about?”

 “Oh nothing,” Cousland said, shaking his head and grinning, “I just think that Justice has a good point, don’t you? We should give Howe his privacy. Come on, we should get back to the inn, it’s getting dark as it is and I’m tired. Also I said we’d rendezvous with Helena and her troops for the night, we’d best not be too late.”

That brightened Anders night, at least if only a little.

* * *

 

“You’re never going to tell me how you do that, are you?” Helena asked in a silky tone as she ran her fingers over his chest, slowing her breathing as she panted.

“It’s a trade secret,” Anders replied, smiling with satisfaction as he laid back against the bed covers, pulling the woman with him.

She may not have been as attractive as the elven woman Anders had seen sitting at the bar, yet he was sure that he’d come out on top that night. Helena Rathbone was funny, feisty and knew what she was doing. Anders appreciated that in a woman. He liked her messy brown hair and the freckles across her nose. She also seemed to have no misgivings about his magical ability, in fact she seemed to welcome it on some level. Especially in the bedroom, that was.

“Mmm, well, I suppose if I had anything that potent I wouldn’t be giving away the technique either,” she laughed softly, pillowing her head against his shoulder, the soft flesh of her breasts pressing against his arm; they lay there for a moment in silence, breathing in the cold air. Eventually Helena sat up, taking the blanket with her and letting the cold air pour in.

“Bloody hell!” Anders said, instantly curling up and grabbing at the blanket as the cool air hit his hot, sweaty skin, “Give me that!”

Helena laughed before throwing the blanket back at him. He scrambled back under it as she dressed, with the quick efficiency every Warden learned at some stage. He watched her figure in the moonlight and tried not to fall asleep before she left. He felt it was only polite.

“Good night,” she said, as she always did, leaning down to kiss his forehead.

“Night,” he replied sleepily as she walked to the door and opened it; what he hadn’t expected to hear was Helena’s exclamation of surprise on opening said door.

“Oh!” she said, backing up a step and sounding a little embarrassed, “Senior Warden, I...please excuse me.”

Anders sat up, holding the blanket around him to stay warm, and frowned as Helena left only to be replaced by another figure who was difficult to make out in the gloom.

“Uh, can I help you?” Anders asked in an annoyed tone as the figure closed the door behind them and turned to face him; as it approached Anders only became more affronted, “look, I’m trying to get some sleep here, if you need help with anything Commander Cousland is two doors down...”

It wasn’t difficult to tell who was invading his privacy when the figure walked into the full glow of the moonlight, streaming through the high window. Nathaniel Howe’s face was impassive and yet bitter. Anders let out a sigh of relief, thankful that it wasn’t some stranger looking to assassinate him, even if Helena had greeted them as a fellow Warden at the doorway. His previous encounter with the templars had made him jumpy at best. Still, he would admit he was confused.

“What do you want?” he asked with slight annoyance.

“You set me up,” Howe said tightly, angrily, “you did it on purpose, didn’t you.”

“Set you up? What are you talking about?” Anders replied, sitting uncomfortably as he tried to hold the blanket around him, his back open to the cold, making him shiver; Nathaniel just stared at him while Anders sighed tersely, “Can you maybe ask your cryptic questions tomorrow morning? Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“Is that right,” Howe said; Anders could hear the drink in his voice, “was Warden Rathbone part of that plan?”

“Not that it’s any of _your_ business,” Anders said back snidely, “but no, we didn’t get much sleeping done. Now will you kindly piss off out of my room, I’m cold and tired and you’re not helping matters.”

Again it seemed without provocation. Howe lunged forwards and took hold of the blanket in clenched fists, seeming to want to shake Anders but not realising that the blanket wasn’t attached to him and thus was pulled away easily. Howe stared down as he stood up, unintentionally pulling the blanket away as he did so. Anders let out a hiss and tried to make a grab for the blanket as he had before, only this time Nathaniel was not as forgiving as Helena.

“You did it on purpose, didn’t you,” Howe said as if he were speaking more to himself than to Anders.

“I don’t know what you’re on about, Nathaniel, but I’ve had enough of your fucking about,” Anders said tightly, keeping his voice down while trying to convey how much he didn’t care about whatever it was Howe wanted, “give me the blanket and get out!”

When Howe dropped the blanket to the floor, Anders leant forwards to claim it. The only thing that stopped him were two hands wrapping themselves around his shoulders, hauling him up as he let out a gasp of surprise. Howe held him as they kissed, perhaps more for his own benefit considering Anders only tried to escape it. When he managed to wrench his head away Nathaniel replied in kind by shoving him forcefully down on the stiff mattress. Anders lifted his hands and tried to pull at the archer’s back, push him away, but Nathaniel was strong and seemingly determined. Anders was always at a disadvantage to most; not being a physical fighter he tended to find himself somewhat less able in close quarters combat. So when Nathaniel leaned down across him, pushing him down with his weight, he did the first thing that came to mind.

“Son of a whore!” Nathaniel reared back, clamping his hand against his neck, “You bit me!”

“You’re fucking lucky that’s all I did,” Anders spat, breathing heavily, “you fucking bastard, what do you think I am! Some sort of release for you when you get drunk enough to realise you like it up the arse?”

“You’re the one who set me up with that elf,” Nathaniel said back just as bitterly, not moving from his position, half straddling Anders, “you knew _she_ was no woman, didn’t you!”

“What?” Anders frowned, yet a small laugh escaped; oh I _see_ , he thought. He was able to see the hilarity even through the angry panic in his system, “ _What_? Really? Actually, I didn’t know, but this makes it all the funnier.”

“Shut your mouth,” Nathaniel hissed out, “you’re on his side, aren’t you. That shit head Cousland. You and him like little vipers in a nest, conspiring against me. You make me sick!”

“Here you are talking about sides again,” Anders said with a snort, “you might be the shortest sighted man I’ve ever met. Can’t accept that your father was a murdering, ambitious scumbag so you try and make this about _sides_ , is that it?”

“How dare you talk of my father," Nathaniel said quietly, “you know nothing of him, _or_ me!”

Anders lifted one of his hands from the mattress and reached forwards in the gloom, propping himself up on his elbow, and unabashedly took hold of the obvious erection trapped within Howe’s trousers. The archer let out a gasp and set his face indignantly but didn’t move.

“I know you’re a repressed bigot who likes to imagine he’s not a disgraced noble with a family full of psychopaths,” Anders said tactlessly, as he began to move his hand back and forth, watching Howe’s face, “isn’t that enough?”

Nathaniel leaned forwards, placing his hands on either side of Anders’ shoulders, placing his face mere inches from the mage’s own. His breath was hot and intermittent.

“That’s all you see me as, isn’t it,” Howe said angrily, even as the breath stuttered in his throat as Anders squeezed.

“Why shouldn’t I?” Anders asked blithely, “I’m sure you pigeon hole me just as much. Let me guess, I’m an immoral slut with no conscience and powers which make me a sin in the eyes of the Maker? This, I’m sure, is why you find it so easy to try and fuck me while still pretending you’re straight as an arrow.”

He wasn’t angry so much as he was bitter. Nathaniel’s arms were trembling. Anders could feel it through the slight shake in the mattress, could feel it in the archer’s breath as the man leaned forwards, placing his forehead against Anders' shoulder and allowing the mage to continue his manipulations without another word. In truth Anders wasn’t even sure why he was bothering. In a way, he supposed, there was some sort of perverse satisfaction in making Howe enjoy this, as if it would somehow only prove Anders right in everything he had accused the man of.

An arm around Nathaniel’s back and the weakness in the man’s arms allowed Anders to roll them over easily. There was only slight protest, mainly slurred, as he undid the buttons that held the archer’s trousers closed. The protests stopped when Anders took Nathaniel’s cock into his mouth with slow ease and were replaced with an elicit moan and a hand fisting into his hair. He took the man deep and enjoyed the twitching shiver he could feel wracking Howe’s body. It wasn’t long before it was over. Anders sat back and spat out the salty fluid in his mouth onto the floor. When he looked back Howe was already desperately sorting his clothes, even as Anders knelt beside him completely naked.

“Well,” Anders said wryly, sighing as he ran his hand through his hair and looked out of the window, while Nathaniel stood from the bed and brushed himself down, “I’m quite sure that was only fun for one of us.”

No reply. Anders shook his head. Then he felt the softness and warmth of something being placed over his shoulders. He looked round to find Nathaniel walking towards the doorway, even as Anders reached up to pull the blanket down around himself. For a moment he felt an absurd weakness towards the sentimental gesture.

“You shouldn’t hate him, you know,” he said just as Nathaniel opened the door; he hesitated as much as Howe did, “you’re more similar than you think.”

 Howe did not move. Anders watched as the man stood there, like a statue, before eventually opening the door and leaving without a word. He shook his head once more before flopping down onto the cold bed and trying to make a warm spot for himself. Why couldn’t he be friends with less complicated people? he wondered as he drifted to sleep under the moon’s glow.

* * *

 

The morning was colder than the night before, if that was possible. The sky was clear, filtered with pale sunshine. Amaranthine looked rather drab compared to the vibrant night before, everything lit with firebrands and flickering shadows up every wall. Now the mud was clearly brown, as the houses were grey, as the people were a mix of the two.

The Wardens assembled themselves for their return to the Keep, while Helena and her troops readied their wagon for their continued lengthy journey to the Grey Warden outpost at Westhill. Cousland had been setting up new posts all over Ferelden, something he was rather passionate about considering the recent upheaval of the darkspawn, with the sinister whispers of something calling itself the ‘mother’. Yet now, as Anders looked to his superior, he didn’t see the usual stress and reserved stature he kept around his troops, but instead he seemed more carefree. Every time Cousland looked to Nathaniel Howe out of the corner of his eye, as the archer dealt with the tack for his horse, he simply smiled and let out a soft laugh, his eyes distinctly mischievous. They moved out without much fuss, saying farewell as the two troops split ways at the crossroads.

“May I ask you a personal question?”

Anders would admit it was a little startling to have such a thing asked so suddenly and without warning as they walked. He had been lost in a bit of a daze as they travelled, eyes straight ahead but unseeing. He’d found himself lagging behind the group slightly but didn’t have the wherewithal to catch up. Jumped out of this malaise, he turned to Justice and shrugged.

“Nothing’s ever stopped you before,” Anders said candidly, “go ahead.”

“I was simply wondering if it is common to have more than one partner in the space of one night,” Justice commented sincerely, making Anders sigh.

“Are we still on this?” Anders said, more to himself, before looking back to the spirit who watched him passively, “What have you been doing, standing outside my bloody door?”

“It was not intentionally that I came by this information,” Justice said, sounding a bit put out, “I was simply in the room adjacent to your own. It simply seemed that Serrah Howe was not happy with your fornication with another. Was this motivated by jealousy?”

“It’s, well...” Anders struggled with the concept as much as Justice seemed to be; Anders stopped walking for a few paces to allow the others to get further ahead, just in case, “it’s a little more complicated than that, I think.”

Anders continued walking but, when Justice didn’t reply, he looked to the spirit to find him waiting expectantly. He floundered a little, feeling as if he were supposed to come up with more of an explanation.

“Um, thing is, I think it’s more about acceptance than anything to do with, well, sex,” Anders continued clumsily, “Nathaniel’s just a little...confused about what he wants. I think.”

“I see,” Justice said, “I do not understand the details but I believe I understand your reasoning. It is not an easy thing, to accept who you are and be happy with that. I have even found myself in this dilemma.”

“You have?” Anders asked, more glad just to take the attention away from his sex life than any real need to know.

“Yes,” Justice said, “this body I inhabit, it causes me conflict. I understand the concept of death which made it available to me, yet the reaction of his relatives has left me somewhat troubled. It was not my intention to cause any distress and yet I have. I...feel guilt.”

There was something Anders could sympathise with. The mage sighed, feeling that he’d been doing that a lot lately, and lifted a hand to pat Justice amicably on the shoulder. The spirit looked to him with a slight frown even as Anders smiled softly back.

“Welcome to being human,” he said.


End file.
